


A Touch of Magic

by Ivegotaheartandivegotasoul



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivegotaheartandivegotasoul/pseuds/Ivegotaheartandivegotasoul
Summary: Harry is a witch and Niall is sad





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of my drabbles that I posted to tumblr a while ago. Enjoy!

He comes in twenty-three minutes before closing. His dark hair is damp and sticking to the pale skin of his forehead. His jumper looks heavy with rain. His fingers curl and uncurl around the ends of the jumper's long, white sleeves and Harry watches as the movement causes a few drops to escape and fall to the floor. The man's eyes travel the length of the entire shop, focusing in on the large display of vials behind Harry, which range in size and color and are each labeled with Harry's slanted handwriting. Eventually the man settles his gaze on Harry.

"How may I help you?" Harry asks, sliding off of his wooden stool and approaching the counter. There' an ache in his back. He's been sitting still on that stool for nearly two hours now. They haven't had a customer in almost three. It gets like this from time to time. He and Gemma will go a half or even a whole day without a customer stepping foot into the shop. It makes Gemma restless and a little self conscious. She's always afraid her potions won't work, that she's left someone with the incurable urge to laugh or a sixth finger on their left hand. Harry doesn't mind so much. He likes to think that it's because everything is going well. That no one needs their help. He likes to spend their slow days baking in the kitchen in back, likes to try new recipes, see what potions he can incorporate into them. A tray of day-old, orange-cranberry muffins sits on a silver tray on the counter.

The man clears his throat and scratches at his jaw. Harry finds his eyes tracing the light stubble that rests along his jaw line, and then the perfect slope of his nose, the bright blue of his eyes. He finds it hard to look away. "I want to forget something. I was told to come here."

The way the man's voice cracks doesn't escape Harry's attention, and he frowns, reaching up to tuck a long strand of his curly hair behind his ear. "What do you want to forget?"

"My fiancé just left me two weeks ago. We were together for four years. Four whole years. And I keep trying to forget about her, but I can't help it and every time I think about her I-I just..." He stops, his lip beginning to tremble.

"Are you asking me to help you forget your entire relationship?"

The man nods. Harry bites his lip and adjusts one of the rings on his right hand. He's never had someone make a request like this before. Something inside him tells him that to relieve him of all his memories of this person would be wrong. "Are you sure that's what you want? Four whole years of your life just gone like that?"

"Please," the man replies. He lowers his gaze to the ground, kicking the toe of his boot against the floor. And Harry can't see him start to cry, but he can hear the quiet gasp from his lips and see the way his shoulders hitch.

And Harry's griped with the sudden urge to comfort him, to hold him, to make the pain go away. He pushes himself over the counter, nearly falling flat on his face in the process, and in two long strides he's in front of the man. "Come here mate," he says. And without any further warning he envelopes the stranger in his arms. The man immediately buries his face in Harry's neck, and his tears feel cold and wet. Harry can feel it bleed through the thin material of his favorite button down. The man's whole body is tense. Harry presses his palms into the wet fabric at the man's back and gently rubs there. He can feel heat start to build in the tips of his fingertips, his magic awakening. After a moment Harry feels Niall's body relax completely.

"What's your name?" Harry tries.

"Niall."

"Niall," Harry repeats, moving his fingers up to the nape of Niall's neck. "I'm Harry."

"You're not going to help me, are you?" Niall asks, pulling back and sniffing quietly.

"I'm not going to take away your memories if that's what you mean. It's wrong. You'd only end up regretting it and that sort of magic can't be undone."

Niall sighs. His cheeks are blotchy and bright red and Harry aches to touch him again.

"I'd like to be helpful in other ways though. I live above the store with my sister. Would you like to come up? I could make you a cuppa and we could talk."

Niall nods and as he follows Harry to the staircase in the back of the shop, the front door to the shop locking itself with a quiet click, he reaches forward and slips his hand into Harry's.

***

Harry fishes two red mugs out of the cupboard and places them on the counter. Next, he sorts through over a dozen jars of tea leaves until he finds the right one tucked near the back of the cupboard. He’ll have to talk to Gemma about reorganizing it, he thinks as he removes the lid. The kettle begins to whistle and Harry holds his hand out for it, careful to make sure no water spills on the floor as it moves across the small space of the kitchen. Niall’s watching him silently from where he’s sat at the kitchen table.

“Would you like some cream or sugar?”

“Some sugar would be nice.”

Harry nods and scoops a large spoonful of sugar from a small silver tin he keeps by the oven. Once the small specs have begun to sink and dissolve, he sets the tea in front of Niall and quietly instructs him to “drink.”

“What is it?” Niall asks, raising the cup to his nose to sniff exaggeratedly before taking a small sip.

“Chamomile. It’s good for depression and anxiety.”

“I didn’t know that.” Harry smiles warmly and nods enthusiastically, watching Niall’s tongue as he licks his bottom lip. “Tea’s good for a lot of things.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

Harry shrugs. “My mum had a book on different types of tea and their various uses.”

“Do you read the tea leaves?”

“No, but my sister Gemma does,” Harry hums, sitting down in the chair beside Niall.

“Have you two…always been like this?”

Harry cocks his head. “Like what?”

“You know…” Niall starts again, his forehead filling with creases.

“Witches?”

Niall nods.

“Yes. It’s something we were born with. My mum’s one as well. She taught us everything we know. Well, not everything. She’s never been particularly good at making potions. She once turned Gemma into a frog with one on accident. So we had to kind of teach ourselves. My mum keeps her magic to herself for the most part. The people in our home town don’t think too fondly of magic or witches. S’why Gemma and I moved away.”

Gemma’s always told him he shares too much. And that’s what keeps him from continuing on even though Niall’s seems to be listening attentively, maybe even interestedly. “What about you?” he asks.

Niall shakes his head. “Nothing special about me.”

“That’s not true,” Harry scoffs lightly. Harry knows it’s not true. Can sense it. “Where are you from? Ireland, right?”

“Yeah. I’m from the Midlands. Mullingar.”

“And what brought you here?” Niall sets his empty mug down, his index finger slowly circling the rim. He doesn’t speak for a moment. And when he does he keeps his gaze is locked on the table. “I was dating a girl. She’d always wanted to leave Ireland and move to England. She didn’t like the sound of a long distance relationship so she broke up with me when she left. I was gutted. Took me only a few days to buy a plane ticket and leave Ireland behind. We got back together and continued dating. Eventually, we got engaged. And then two weeks ago she told me she wasn’t happy, hadn’t been in a while. She told me that all I’ve ever done is hold her back. From what, I dunno. She didn’t give me much of a chance to speak or ask questions before she moved out.”

Harry reaches out and places his hand on top of Niall’s. The skin is warm there and Harry tries to find the right words to say. He can feel his magic once again acting on its own accord. Only this time it’s stronger. And he doesn’t know what it is about Niall that’s making it act this way. He tries to still it, to regain control over it, but for the first time since he was a small child, he isn’t able to do anything. He draws his hand back quickly and Niall looks up at him, his eyes questioning.

“You’re still wearing wet clothes,” Harry says quickly. And he’s not wrong. He’d been a bit preoccupied with putting the kettle on that he’d forgotten that Niall was still wearing the damp jumper and jeans. “I’m sure I have something dry you can wear.”

Niall mumbles a quiet “thanks,” as Harry gets to his feet and quickly makes his way to his room. He grabs a green jumper and a pair of joggers and takes a second to breathe and try to calm himself before he pads his way back to the kitchen.

Niall is standing at the sink, washing the mugs. Harry waits for him to wipe his hands off on a dish towel before he places the clothes in his hands. Niall sets them on the counter and his hands immediately go to the bottom of his jumper, grabbing it, pulling it over his head. And Harry can’t keep himself from staring. Niall’s lean but also surprisingly muscular. He’s got a dark patch of hair resting beneath his naval and he’s so, so pale. The jumper hits the ground with a loud thwack. It’s when Niall begins unbuttoning his jeans that Harry feels a gust of warmth spread throughout his body, settling in his cheeks. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he says quickly.

He settles himself on the living room couch, tucking his legs beneath him. He decides to turn on the television, thinking that might serve as a suitable distraction for both Niall and himself. Niall joins him a moment later. He climbs onto the couch and before Harry can say anything, he immediately leans all his weight into Harry’s side and wraps his arms around him. Harry freezes for a second before he starts to inch slightly away from him. Niall, however, holds on tight and doesn’t let him move any farther. “Please, Harry,” Niall whispers, “I don’t know why, but I feel better when I’m touching you.”

Harry sighs, losing all his desire to resist. He pushes his fingers through Niall’s hair and his magic has Niall practically melting into him. Harry begins to feel a sense of calm and comfort begin to spread throughout his body. He feels Niall press his lips softly against his neck and the touch makes him shiver.

 

When Gemma comes home an hour later, she finds the two boys lying cuddled together on the couch, both deeply asleep.


End file.
